


Maybe This Christmas Eve

by BadSideOf45



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Mild Language, Mutual Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadSideOf45/pseuds/BadSideOf45
Summary: Pete Wentz and Patrick Stump keep running into each other on Christmas Eve.  They share a mutual attraction, but will their timing ever be right?
Relationships: Bob Bryar/Patrick Stump, Mikey Way/Pete Wentz, Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Maybe This Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Gifted to all the die-hard Peterick fans out there. Hope ya'll love it as much as I do.

CHRISTMAS EVE 2010

Pete Wentz hurried down to the parking garage of the Clandestine Industries building in Downtown Chicago, quickly hopping into his SUV and pulling out into the congestion of Christmas Eve.

He was running late for the annual family Christmas Eve dinner at his parent’s house in Wilmette.

As he was navigating the streets of downtown, his phone buzzed with a text. He pulled into the nearest BP gas station and unlocked his phone, finding a message from his sister Hilary. 

\--Petey - please be a dear and pick up cardamom for the wassail from Whole Foods on your way out to Wilmette.--

“Damn it all,” the young CEO of Clandestine Industries muttered. He had just begun to make progress towards leaving the city, and was pissed about being volunteered by his sister to stop by the store and pick up an ingredient she no doubt conveniently “forgot” for her mulled wine.

Pete was 100% certain she was doing this just because he had gone back on his promise to bring a date to Christmas Eve dinner.

He was currently very single, and greatly appreciated all the perks that status entailed.

“Siri, I need directions to the nearest Whole Foods,” Pete said to his phone. He waited impatiently for the required information to load.

As he pulled out of the gas station parking lot, Boris Karloff’s “You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch” began to play on the radio.

Pete gave the radio his middle finger before changing the station.

********

When Pete finally reached his destination, he climbed out of his Navy Blue Range Rover after winning a tense game of chicken with a Teal Honda Fit in order to secure one of the few empty spots left in the parking lot of Whole Foods on Chicago Avenue.

Pete reread the text and grumbled to himself, marching angrily through the sliding doors of the supermarket. “Funky Funky Christmas” was playing over the sound system, only serving to put him in a worse mood.

Whoever allowed New Kids On The Block to record a Christmas song should be drawn and quartered.

He ran his olive colored hand through his short raven hair (made curly by the snow) and stomped through the aisles, ducking and dodging his way through people topped with Santa hats, Elf ears, and - was that mistletoe? until his whiskey eyes landed on the spice section.

Pete walked over in front of the various spices and inhaled. It smelled heavenly. And exotic. And he had no clue where to begin looking for what he (or rather Hilary) needed.

A harried-looking woman darted in front of him, but before he could ask her for help, she had grabbed some fresh sage and disappeared in a flash.

‘Bah, Humbug,’ Pete thought as he began to search the shelves for the cardamom.

“And what the hell is a wassail anyway?” he asked aloud to no one in particular.

“I believe it’s pronounced ‘wassal’.”

Pete turned to his left to find a young man smiling at him, pushing his large-framed glasses up his nose. 

He had longish strawberry blonde hair, riptide blueish green eyes, and a mouth that would make a lesser man fall to his knees.

“Excuse me?” Pete replied, wondering what on Earth the young man was talking about, praying to all that was holy that the beguiling fellow would keep moving those gorgeous lips.

“Wassail. You pronounced it was-sale, when it should be pronounced wass-al.”

Pete just stared at the young man, mouth hanging slightly open, momentarily stunned by both his impromptu phonetics lesson and his youthful good looks.

Shoving his hands into his front pockets and shifting from side to side, the other man pulled his “I Heart Bingo” trucker hat down low and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth before continuing.

“You know, wassail. Like the drink, or the Christmas carol? ‘Here We Come A Wassailing Among The Leaves So Green…’ ” he sang, voice like a songbird.

Pete blinked. Twice. Was this guy for real?

“So which are you going to do?”

Pete scratched the back of his neck and paused to get his heartbeat (among other things) under control before answering.

“Oh, um, the drink…” Pete replied, unsure at this point what he was more enamored with - the young man’s looks or voice.

Right now, it was a dead heat.

“Sounds good. I’m making shrimp vindaloo for dinner. Just need one thing…” the young man said as he examined the rows of spices.

Pete took the opportunity to study the young man’s profile. He had a round face, a cute nose,and a very kissable neck. He was shorter than Pete with a broad chest, thick thighs, and an ass to die for. 

Pete smiled to himself as he turned to search the shelves, his eyes finally landing on the item which would put him that much closer to leaving this store, this music, and (sadly) this captivating man behind.

His hand landed not on the last remaining bag of cardamom pods, but on top of something soft and pale.

A hand. Specifically, the right hand of the singing angel standing next to him, the one who knew so much about wassail.

“Oh, you need cardamom too?”

Pete nodded and smiled widely, turning on that Wentzian charm. “Yeah, but it’s okay. You picked it up first.”

The young man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and gave Pete a shy smile, gently chewing on that alluringly smooth bottom lip .

“Well, the bag is so big, we could split it. I mean, I don’t need a lot of cardamom for my vindaloo.”

Pete cocked his head and grinned. “Really? I’d owe you big time!” He held out his hand. “Pete Wentz.”

Pete shook the young man’s hand, the callouses on the inside as well as the baby soft skin on top causing Pete to imagine those hands wrapped around his neck, trailing down his chest, surrounding his cock....

Pete shook his head, bringing himself out of his X-rated fantasy when he realized the heavenly creature had once again begun to speak.

“Patrick. Patrick Stump. I’m finished shopping. Do you have any more shopping to do?”

“Nope, all done thanks to you.”

Pete gave Patrick a wide smile, motioning towards the checkouts at the front of the store.

********

While they wove in and out of the last-minute shoppers, Pete learned that Patrick was 21 years old, from Evanston, and was trying to make it in the music industry.

As they stood in line for the self check-out, Pete told Patrick he was 26, from Wilmette, and owned a clothing manufacturing company.

Once they reached the front of the line, Patrick scanned the cardamom at the self-checkout, while Pete, already entranced with the young man, worked up the courage to ask him out.

“Say Patrick, I was wondering if you’d be interested…”

“Patrick! Babe! I’m so glad I caught you before you finished checking out! They had the jumbo shrimp on sale!”

Pete turned and looked up,up,up into the face of a burly, blonde bohemith holding a bag of shrimp aloft like some type of Nordic god conquering hero.

“Great, Bob - I can still add it in! Bob, this is Pete. Pete, Bob.”

Bob took one look at Pete and wrapped a possessive arm around Patrick’s waist. He nodded to Pete. “Hey.”

Well, hell.

And it was all going so well...

When they were done checking out and had moved out of the way of other shoppers, Patrick turned to Pete.

“I hope your wassail turns out awesome, and I hope you have a Merry Christmas!” Patrick said as he smiled widely, handing the half-full bag of cardamom to Pete.

Pete pulled out his wallet, but Patrick covered it with his hand, shaking his head. “Call it an early Christmas gift.” 

Pete put his wallet back in his pocket and gave Patrick a quick wink while Bob was distracted by the shiny tinsel above the exit doors.

Blushing, Patrick once again pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, and peered up through his full blonde lashes at the older man.

“It was nice to meet you, Pete.”

Pete gave Patrick a bright smile. “Nice to meet you too. Merry Christmas.”

Bob frowned and grabbed Patrick’s hand, pulling him towards the exit. “C’mon, Babe!”

“And thanks for the cardamom!” Pete yelled after them.

Patrick threw a wave over his shoulder as he and Bob hurried out of the sliding doors.

Pete smiled down at the cardamom as he walked across the snowy parking lot towards his car.

He didn’t know what was the better present - the cardamom or meeting the young charming songbird..

It was a crying shame the young man was already spoken for.

As Pete pulled out of the parking space, “What The Lonely Do For Christmas” began to play on the radio.

“Nope!” Pete muttered to himself before plugging in his phone and selecting, “Enter Sandman” , filling the Range Rover with heavy guitar riffs, causing the man to start headbanging as he once again started for Wilmette.

********

CHRISTMAS EVE 2011

Pete felt a sense of deja-vu as he shuffled through the snow that was beginning to create a shiny pristine layer of white on the dull gray asphalt outside the Whole Foods on Chicago Avenue.

He was sent on a mission to get the one item needed to finish the enchiladas whose tantalizing smell had been wafting throughout his apartment all day.

The aroma had even permeated through the cracks of the tightly closed door to Pete’s home office, where he had been working (aka - hiding) all day.

Once again, the store was full of harried shoppers who needed that extra bag of potatoes because their cousins had decided to “pop in”, or had left their turkey purchase until the last minute - men and women both young and old desperately pacing up and down the meat aisle, hoping to miraculously find a 20 pound bird hidden behind the racks of lamb or beef roasts.

This year Pete knew exactly where he was headed, and once he had “Froggered” his way through his fellow shoppers he quickly turned down the spice aisle.

It was almost deserted, save one lone shopper standing in front of the spice display - the only obstacle to Pete’s escape from this Christmas shopping nightmare.

Not that he was in any hurry to get home, but he refused to think about that now.

The man was taking forever, and Pete knew he had to get home soon.

“You almost done there?” Pete asked, running his right hand through his short, bottle blond hair.

The startled man looked over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know...Pete, right?” he said, turning around in order to get a better look.

Pete closely examined the man’s face, wondering how he knew his name. 

That’s when it all came back.

Last Christmas Eve. Cardamom. 

Patrick.

He had lost the trucker hat and his hair was shorter and bleached blonde. He had slimmed down, and wore a designer peacoat and tight jeans, giving him the appearance of a typical Chicago hipster.

But Pete definitely remembered those beautiful blue-green eyes and luscious lips.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Pete said with a wide grin. He looked Patrick up and down, warmth and tenderness in his eyes. “You look - wow.”

Patrick’s cheeks and neck turned a fetching shade of pink. “Thanks. You too,” he replied, demurely looking up at Pete through his thick, full eyelashes, tongue darting out to wet his full bottom lip.

Was Patrick flirting with him? Didn’t he have a boyfriend the last time they met? Bill or something?

“How’s your friend?” Pete asked, wondering whether Bart was still in the picture.

Patrick looked confused for a moment, then gave Pete a frown.

“Bob? I don’t really know - I haven’t talked to him in months.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Pete said, frowning, his eyebrows creased in concern.

Patrick just waved his hand, as if sweeping thoughts of the other man aside. “Don’t be - I’m not. I hear he’s happy with Alex.”

The two men stood in the middle of the aisle grinning at each other while the spices looked on, waiting for one of them to make their move.

“Are you wassailing again this year?” Patrick said with a smirk.

“Huh?” 

Smooth Pete, real smooth.

“Last year it was cardamom for wassail. I assume you’re shopping for spices?” Patrick looked up at Pete, bottom lip captured between his teeth.

Did Patrick HONESTLY not know what that one action did to Not-So-Little Pete?

“Oh, yeah, I’m looking for cumin. Something about enchiladas?”

Patrick smiled. “Same, except I’m making Jeera Chicken for dinner tonight.”

“I’m beginning to think you only eat Indian food,” Pete said, nudging Patrick while giving him a warm smile.

Patrick rolled his eyes. “It’s a tradition I started for myself every Christmas Eve.”

Pete noticed that the two men were now standing less than three feet apart.

“Traditions are nice…” he said, leaning slightly toward Patrick, becoming lost in the younger man’s riptide eyes.

“I’m making more than enough for two, if you don’t...” Patrick whispered, his face close enough that Pete could feel the young man’s warm, minty breath on his cheek.

Just then, the annoying sound of “Ava Adore” came from Pete’s front pocket, interrupting whatever Patrick was about to say. 

Damn it. Cockblocked by the Smashing Pumpkins

Pete leaned back and dug his phone out, holding up his pointer finger and mouthing a sincere ‘Sorry’, silently begging Patrick to stay put.

“Hey,” Pete said as he pushed the accept call button.

“Where the fuck are you? I sent you out almost an hour ago! I need to get these fucking enchiladas done so we can make it to Gee’s art gallery show slash organic vegan pot luck on time! I knew I should have gone out myself.”

Pete grimaced, certain he had lost partial hearing in his ear.

“Sorry, I...”

“I don’t want to hear excuses, fuckwad, I just want you to get your ass back here ASAP.”

“Okay, okay!”

He hit the end button, cutting the call and tucked the phone back in his pocket. Pete was positive he would get a ration of shit from Mikey when he got home, but right now he could care less.

Patrick looked very uncomfortable as Pete raised his head. He had been staring at the floor, wishing a much needed sinkhole would miraculously open and swallow him up.

Pete had never been very lucky.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered.

Patrick smiled gently. “Nice ringtone. Pumpkins fan?”

Pete shook his head. “Not really. My boyfriend chose it.”

Patrick nodded and handed a bottle of organic cumin seeds to Pete.

“Here. This is what you’ll need. I hope the enchiladas turn out alright.”

Patrick grabbed a bottle of cumin for himself, and they made their way to the checkout in awkward silence.

********

When their items had been paid for, Patrick placed a gentle hand on Pete’s arm before exiting.

“You can tell me to fuck off if you want, but that guy sounds like a colossal jerk. If you ever need to talk, I’m working down at Andy’s Jazz Club on Hubbard most nights.”

Patrick squeezed Pete’s arm. “You seem like a really good person, Pete. You deserve so much better.”

Pete shrugged, pulling his coat tighter around himself, dislodging Patrick’s hand..

“No, I really don’t,” he replied, turning and hurrying out of the sliding doors, afraid if he saw any tenderness or affection in Patrick’s eyes, he wouldn’t be able to resist the younger man.

********

CHRISTMAS EVE 2012

Pete doesn’t go to the Whole Foods on Chicago Avenue.

Pete doesn’t go anywhere.

He had begged off the annual family dinner, unable to stand another teary lecture from his mother about how “he was closing in on thirty and running out of time to give her more grandbabies.”

Instead, Pete was slumped on his couch eating cold delivery pizza, wiping away warm tears brought on by Christmas-themed Lifetime movies full of B-List actors.

He was dressed in three day old grey sweats, an old DePaul soccer hoodie (that may or may not have served as Kleenex recently), and a pair of mismatched striped/plaid socks. His long, dark straightened hair fell around his face framing an impressive week’s worth of stubble. 

The year had turned out to be a steaming pile of shit - he thought back to when Mikey had dumped him in March while Pete was in the middle of giving him a blow job.

**Mikey pulled his cock out of Pete’s mouth, looked down at him and said “This isn’t working for me.”**

Pete thought Mikey meant the blowjob.

Mikey, however, meant the whole “putting up with Pete’s shit” thing.

He then proceeded to rub salt in Pete's raw heart by turning around and marrying his “soulmate” Alicia that November.

Yes. the year had really done nothing for his ego, let alone his health.

Ever since he had found out about the wedding six weeks ago, he had been working his ass off, literally living at the office until Ryan, Spencer, and Vickie had hauled him into the conference room, staging an intervention until finally convincing Pete to take a long, LONG, well-deserved break.

Clandestine Industries’ Spring Line, targeting young adults ages 15-25, had been completed and walked the runway at New York Fashion week. It had garnered tons of positive reviews, all gushing about the creative genius Pete Wentz, who had his ‘finger on the fashion pulse of International Millennials.’

What a crock of shit. 

He made what he liked, and if no one bought it, fuck ‘em.

Yes, he was super rich, and yes, he was super successful Pete thought as he stared blankly at the TV screen.

But he had realized over time that all the money and success in the world would never bring him the happiness he craved.

Was it too much to ask, he wondered, for a partner who loved him unconditionally, able to look past his dark moods and insecure nature? 

********

When the latest movie ended, Pete slowly rolled off the couch and headed to the bathroom to take a piss.

After he had done his business and washed his hands, he stood and stared at himself in the mirror.

There were dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. His hair hung limply from his scalp, and - was he getting frown lines???!!!???

‘What’s wrong with me?’ he thought. ‘Don’t I deserve a Lifetime Christmas Movie ending?’

Pete turned off the bathroom light and scoffed to himself as he headed back into the  
living room. ‘Soulmates, true love - all bullshit. There’s no such thing as Christmas Miracles® or Happily Ever Afters®.’

He looked towards the TV while stretching and giving his toned stomach a scratch. He groaned when he discovered he had already seen the movie currently showing on his 88 inch screen TV. 

Twice.

Pete picked up the remote and turned off the television, deciding instead to go into the kitchen and make himself a bowl of Life cereal for dessert.

Pete took a cereal bowl out of the cabinet and set in on the counter. He then proceeded to pour himself a generous helping of whole grain goodness. Finally, he opened the fridge to grab the almond milk.

Well, hell.

He was out of milk.

Pete shut the refrigerator door and stood weighing his need for cereal against his want of quiet and solitude.

Damn blasted cereal desire.

Grumbling about his stupidity and lack of forethought, Pete threw on his heavy winter coat, pulled a grey beanie low over his ears, wrapped a long striped scarf around his neck twice, and slipped his feet into his Baffin Impact boots.

After locking his front door, Pete hopped on the elevator and rode quickly down to the first floor. He waved to his doorman (Jim? No, Joe) and trudged out into the cold, snowy Midwestern evening.

As he walked down the street, Pete kept his head down, not in the mood to watch others hustle and bustle their way through Christmas Eve. What had he even been doing last Christmas Eve?

Just as that thought entered his head, Pete turned the corner only to encounter a long line of people running along the side of the building. 

Pete sighed, upset the line would delay his trip to the store and thus his return home.

As he shuffled farther down the street, he began to hear a phenomenal voice singing “The Christmas Song” . He peered above the heads of the people in front of him and spied a short man with fingerless gloves and an acoustic guitar strolling along the line, entertaining the people as they waited.

The man had on black jeans with what appeared to be a black t-shirt as well as a maroon cardigan peeking out from underneath his leather jacket.

He also wore a fedora - yes, a fedora - on his head, tilted at a jaunty angle, a small sprig of something green (holly, or was it mistletoe?) peeking out from the ribbon which ran above the brim.

Pete was fascinated, not only with the singer’s voice, but also with the singer himself. What kind of person would give up his Christmas Eve to stand out in the falling snow and serenade a bunch of strangers?

Bewitched by this ethereal creature in casual clothing, Pete sat down on the nearest bench and watched as the young man strolled up and down the line, chatting with people and taking requests for Christmas songs.

He was extra attentive to the children in line, shaking their hands and offering them a miniature candy cane which would magically materialize from his coat pocket.

The young man, having finished a rousing rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock” followed by a loud round of applause, smiled widely, turning and meeting Pete’s eyes for the first time in a year.

Patrick.

He had the same beautiful eyes, the same lovely lips, the same kind smile.

This Patrick, however, once again had reddish blonde hair cut short as well as a curvier appearance, which Pete found hot as fuck.

Feeling a severe lack of confidence and self-esteem, Pete slumped into his coat and scarf, hoping Patrick wouldn’t recognize him so he could just slink back to his apartment quietly and watch the Grinch.

Not the live-action movie, the cartoon. Pete was a Christmas purist.

Not that he had anything against Jim Carrey’s version.

And definitely not that new cartoon Grinch that was in the theaters - too modern.

But he digressed. 

Pete had almost put a plan of escape together when he felt someone sit down beside him on the bench.

Minutes ticked by while Pete scowled at the pizza sauce stain just to the right of his crotch on his sweats.

Great, just great. What even was his life at this point?

Just as he was getting ready to get up and leave, Pete felt a hand on his arm.

“I missed you at Whole Foods, Pete.”

Pete shrugged and kept staring at the stain in his lap, unable to face Patrick.

“‘M sorry - just didn’t feel up to it this year.”

Pete realized then that Patrick’s hand was still on his arm. With a sigh, he turned to face the young man who he had first met almost three years ago.

Patrick gave him a gentle smile, his eyes sparkling, lined with eyelashes topped by snowflakes.

“You look like you could use a friend. If you’re free, I know a great coffee place around the corner...”

Pete stared at Patrick for a few moments before answering.

“Do you believe in fate?”

Patrick giggled for a moment, thoroughly charming the older man.

“Right now I do,” he said, placing his hand on Pete’s knee.

Pete gave Patrick a small smile. “Coffee sounds great.”

They stood up from the bench and began to walk in the direction of the small shop.

“What were the people waiting for?” Pete asked as they strolled side by side along the sidewalk, hands “accidentally” touching now and then.

“The Salvation Army set up a soup kitchen near here. They came into Gravity Studios where I work and asked if anyone could help out, and since I didn’t have any plans I volunteered to bring everyone a little Christmas cheer.”

Just before they reached the shop’s door, Pete gently grabbed Patrick’s elbow, pulling him to the side.

“How are you even real?” Pete asked quietly, gazing down into Patrick’s eyes, puzzled by this kind, generous, and loving soul.

Patrick just smiled and shrugged.

“Being with you always makes me feel more alive,” he replied, shyly reaching out and tangling his fingers with Pete’s.

They were standing face to face, inches apart.

“Is that mistletoe in your hat?” Pete whispered.

“It is if you want it to be,” Patrick replied, winking before Pete leaned in and kissed him tenderly.

‘Maybe there really is something to this Happily Ever After business,’ Pete thought as he kissed Patrick again and again.

And again.

In the end, Pete had to take Patrick’s word that the shop made the best coffee. 

fin.

‘

**Author's Note:**

> My undying admiration if you know where the phrase "It looks like you could use a friend" comes from.
> 
> 2 hints - 80's movie and baseball. ;)


End file.
